


Dance, Dance, Dance Your Mind Away

by grandfatherclock



Series: Uptown Girl [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Community: widojest love, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Jester Lavorre is bored. Maybe this man she's spying on the dance floor can provide a decent enough distraction.





	Dance, Dance, Dance Your Mind Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poyoboyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poyoboyo/gifts).



> HAPPY WIDOJEST WEEK!
> 
> DEDICATED TO POYO SIN-BIN <3
> 
> This fic is for the Day 1 prompt for Widojest Week, DANCE. It's rated mature for references/impled to sex—there is no actual sex in this fic, but characters reference sex with explicit language. I'd also like to say... this fic isn't a criticism of canon Jester Lavorre, any more than Bren-never-broke AUs are inherent criticisms of Caleb Widogast. It ain't that deep, this AU is just me having fun imagining a Jester who is kind of an asshole.
> 
> A song to accompany this would be Nova Baby by The Black Keys.

Jester Lavorre loves dancing. She loves the darkness that’s only interrupted by the glittering multicoloured lights that illuminate people’s faces in green and red and blue for splits seconds at a time before they flit away, teasing their shadowed faces. She loves the dresses and suits, loves how the cloth and sequins and makeup look in the light, loves the painted faces and the glittering pearls embedded to pretty little numbers and elegant heels that make legs look long and shapely.

There’s a man dancing with her, and Jester smiles up at him with her painted lips. She knows she must look stunning—her curly hair is pinned back, exposing her elegant freckled neck, and her dark green dress curls perfectly around her curves. Her heels match her clothes, and Jester loves the _clicking_ sound they make against the hardwood floor as she moves to the rhythm of the beat of the music thudding dully from the speakers. Her dark makeup makes her brown eyes look big and bright, almost glittering in the dark—she _knows_ because she experimented with this shade beforehand—and she likes how the man’s gaze snaps back to her eyes every time she blinks. Right now, his eyes are tracing over her bare freckled shoulders with a barely contained _want_ , and Jester tilts her face, a considering smile playing on her lips.

This banquet isn’t incredibly exciting as parties go, but it’s the only one her mother has allowed her to go to this month—and only because Marion is sitting with Lord and Lady Sharpe in their fancy table to the corner, discussing over red wine and easy smiles. Marion’s hand caresses her glass languidly, not drinking but holding it close enough that it appears she is. Lord Sharpe clearly _is_ drinking, and his gaze is on Marion’s mouth. Jester is surprised he hasn’t managed to _spill_ his wine yet, and let the red stain the white of the table cloth— _merde_ , his wife is _right there_ … Lady Sharpe is staring at her husband with an adoring, lovelorn expression, and Jester’s lips _twist_ into this half-smile, half-grimace. She can only _pray_ she doesn’t end up like that, indulging herself in some man’s beauty as he stares after others.

Marion’s brown eyes flit to her, and her red lips pull into a gentle smile. It stills as she sees the man Jester is pressed up against, seeing his black hair and too broad shoulders. Too broad to be the person Jester arrived to this banquet with. Caleb’s shoulders are more slight, and his hair is this deep fiery red that would glow so _prettily_ under these lights illuminating the dance floor in fits and spats—if he were dancing. Jester’s own smile freezes, and her gaze flits away from her, trying to even out her own breathing from the sudden annoyance she’s feeling. Marion had one rule going into this party— _Don’t make a nuisance of yourself, my little sapphire_. Her hand on Jester’s shoulder, her gaze sharp and intent. _We have to keep up good relations._

Jester exhaled then. _I won’t, Mama._ Marion’s smile made Jester glow with excitement as she jumped off her bed and raced to her closet, Marion watching her with amusement as Jester looked for the perfect dress to wear. She and Mama don’t see eye-to-eye sometimes, but that… that was a good day.

Jester _isn’t_ making a nuisance of herself. She’s been _very_ well behaved—can she not even freely _dance_ anymore? She rolls her eyes and presses closer to the man she doesn’t know the name of, her eyes tracing over his features. _He’s… handsome_ , Jester thinks, _in that classical sort of way_. She grits her teeth as she tries to ignore the voice in her head scoffing that it’s just a charitable way of saying _boring_. He has black hair, cut so short it follows the shape of his scalp. His skin is smooth and brown, soft under her searching fingers. His eyes are dark and adoring—she flushes under his worshipping gaze. He could be fun, she wonders what sounds he might make if she mouths at his jawline, but she’s already thinking she can’t bring him back to the Lavish Chateau. He’ll get sidetracked by all the beautiful strangers passing him by, whose skins are smoother and their accents less cloying and their jaws more shapely. Maybe there’s a closet here, some coat rack, that she can drag him into, and have her way with him. From how he’s pressing into her, hands sure on her waist, he’s certainly _eager_ enough… 

_Fuck_. Jester’s bored with him, and her mind is already gone, far, far away, thinking of her room in the Lavish Chateau. The music slows down, and this man’s hands on her become almost _lighter_ , as her mind loses itself.

Jester was sitting on her front, her legs crisscrossing as she gave Caleb standing in front of her bed a teasing look. “ _Please_ , Cayleb,” she pouted, her voice lilting. “I need _someone_ Mama approves of to come to this _dance_.”

“Your mother approves of me?” Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically at her. The sleeves of his uniform were rolled up so his forearms were exposed, and Jester stared for a moment at the bandages before her gaze flitted away. “ _The_ Marion Lavorre?” His voice was both teasing and also… and also something else.

Jester giggled. Her hair was in a ponytail, but some was falling out. She pushed it out of her face and tilted her face to him. “ _Well_ , enough to take me to this _dance_ , you know?”

“Ah.” Caleb allowed the smile playing on his face to recede a little, and his face became _unsure_. He looked so lovely with his furrowed eyebrows and slightly clenched jaw. “Madame Lavorre.” His voice was practically a _murmur_ , and his face flushed slightly as her eyes raked over his frame in the unflattering blue uniform. “I’m sure you have… you must have so many men who line up after you. You should take one of them, one who belongs.” He looked away as he said _belongs._

“Well, you know,” Jester sighed, sitting up on her knees and crossing her arms. Her dress rode up a little at the movement, and Caleb averted his gaze. “I have _so many men_.” Caleb became still at her casual tone, and she threw herself down on her bed, resting her head against the pillow, pulling down her dress as she did. She bit the inside of her cheek and tilted her face at him. “I _could_ have anyone, but I want _you_ , Cayleb.”

Caleb stared at her for a moment, and then his arms shifted. Jester watched as he crossed his arms, watched those bandages, watched his hands clench slightly. “… You do?” His voice was even, and he considered at her.

Jester nodded, biting her lower lip as she looked to him intently. She saw Caleb’s eyes follow the movement, and resisted the urge to widen the languid smile playing on her lips. Caleb was… Caleb was always so _interesting_ —the way he lusted after her and the way he didn’t. The way he wanted her, and the way his hands were clenched like he would rather die than trail his hands over her soft skin. “I _care_ about you, you know?” Her voice was careful, and she watched with interest as his eyes darkened as she emphasized _care_.

“You do.” This time, it’s declarative, not interrogative, and he seemed to be convincing himself of the fact. Caleb exhaled, and Jester shifted slightly in her bed as he hesitantly made his way to her, perching on the side. He seemed so _awkward_ sitting there amongst her silk sheets and soft pillows, and she _squealed_ , reaching out and pulling him close. He fell onto the bed beside her, his strength no match for her own—Jester thinks that he wouldn’t even know _how_ to resist her—and she widened her eyes as their faces became inches apart. His own face was against a pillow, his gaze considering. Jester watched as his pale blue eyes searched her face, watched his beautiful red hair be strewn against over the pillow. He smiled hesitantly. “You care about me, and you… you want me to go… to go to this dance with you, in front of all the people you know.”

Jester nodded so enthusiastically that some of her hair fell in front of her face. She hissed in annoyance, cursing the way her curly strands tumbled out from her ponytail, but stilled as Caleb’s rough, burned fingers reached out and gently pulled the loose strands behind her ear. His hand stayed along the soft skin of her ear for a moment longer before he pulled back, and Jester… _stared_. He used to be so _shy_ with his touch, but here he was, practically _looking_ for reasons for contact. Jester closed her eyes for a moment, trying to remember the warmth of his touch even as it just happened, and smiled thinking about how _gentle_ it was. She opened her eyes, and met his careful gaze, and found herself thinking suddenly about how it might feel to have those hands be _rough_ with her. Have those burnt, calloused fingers digging into her soft freckled hips as she rode him.

Jester… Jester realized then that she wanted to kiss him. Not as a joke, not to see how his skin would flush and how he would stutter. She wanted to kiss him and claim him, and have his fingers grasping at her silk sheets as she made him see stars. She wanted to paint him with his eyes blown, with his lips parted just so, with a delicate blush from his neck down to his sternum. She didn’t want to share _this_ image with the world, though—she wanted it all for herself.

This… this wasn’t supposed to happen. Jester felt suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly sweaty, suddenly like she needed to be _anywhere but here._ She pulled back slightly and stared at his pretty face, at his pale blue eyes. “I want you to _meet_ someone.” Her voice was bright and chirping, and she turned to look up at the ceiling. He became still beside her, and she forced herself to keep going. This was _good_ , she didn’t _want_ that _look_ on his face, that look like that made it clear he _wanted_ her—she fucking _adored_ how he wanted her, but she was quickly realizing that face made her want him back, and that wasn’t… she wasn’t…. she didn’t want that, not in a million years. Not ever. “You’re so _lonely_ , and I can help you with that, you know?”

Caleb was silent for a painful moment. “… You’re bringing me to this dance,” he said, slowly. He didn’t even sound _upset_ with her, just confused. “So you’re bringing me to this dance, you’re picking out these clothes, but not… you don’t want…” _You don’t want me_. What he didn’t say was obvious in how his voice trailed off, but his sentence was vague enough that he was offering her an out. Caleb always offered her an out.

Jester kind of hated how easily she took it. “You’re my _friend_ , Cayleb.” Her voice was soft, and she tilted her face to him, trying not to look as off-kilter as she fucking felt. _This isn’t… you’re not… who said you could make me feel this way?_ Jester gritted her teeth. “I just don’t want you to be _lonely_ , you know? You’re”— _beautiful and charming and your voice makes me feel strange and soft and warm inside_ —“pretty _cool_ , and you should… you should have someone to _kiss_ and maybe _fuck_ , you know?” Jester tried not to think of Caleb fucking someone else.

“… Ah,” Caleb said, quietly. Jester watched him from her corner of her eye, and face seemed to _crumple_ for a moment, before he remade it and watched her intently. “I don’t… I’m not lonely, Madame Lavorre.” He gave her a genuine smile, but there was something tense on his face, like he needed very desperately for her to believe him. His hands were clenched beside him, and his face darkened for just a moment longer before he resolved himself—and _fuck_ , it was _that_ look. That look that made her _want_ , that look that made her forget herself.

Jester exhaled through her teeth and looked to him, trying to seem teasing and carefree. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to fix her messy hair, and Caleb’s gaze… _didn’t_ follow the movement. He stared at her face, and looked a little unhappy. “Cayleb… come with me, okay?” She batted her eyelashes at him playfully, and Caleb _blinked_ , before pushing himself to a sitting position on his bed. His shoulders were squared almost defensively, and he looked slightly off. Jester stared at his quick movements, at how he raised himself to sit with crossed legs.

“… You want me to be with you?” His voice was halting, his eyes careful. Caleb watched her face intently, and Jester averted her gaze away from him, staring at her rumpled sheets.

“That’s what I _said_ , Cayleb.” Jester’s voice was falsely light, and she looked back to her white ceiling, her jaw slightly clenched. She exhaled, and tried not to make the movement seem too miserable.

“… Alright,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Jester _squealed_ then, and sat up to pull him into a hug. She ignored her thoughts about how nice he looked with disheveled hair and simply buried her head in the crook of his neck. He flushed this delicate pink, which she liked, and her heart… her heart skipped a beat imagining him in a suit, which she really, really didn’t.

Jester blinks, and thinks perhaps she’s _imagining_ her name being called amongst the blaring of the speakers, but then she hears familiar heavy footfalls. Jester twists in the man’s grip to look at Beau, staring at her awkwardly. She’s wearing a black suit with high-waisted trousers, and she looks so _handsome_ Jester can’t hold back her excited squeal. Her hair is done up in a bun behind her head, and her undercut looks as sharp as ever. Her bow is black, and Jester _would_ make a comment about Beau’s _bow_ , about the pun and about how _cute_ it looked, it she wasn’t distracted by how the silk white of her dress shirt was tight enough to show off her impressive muscles. Gods, Beau has gotten _ripped_ since her parents forced her to that monastery—she can see the way the suit jacket rests on her shoulders isn’t padding but simply Beau’s own frame. Her dark blue eyes look over Jester, and her brown skin along her cheeks and neck darkens slightly as sees Jester’s tight green dress and impressive strappy heels. “It’s nice to see you, Jessie.” Beau rubbed her neck.

Jester _beams_ at her, causing Beau’s own smile to widen. “ _Beau_.” She practically squeals as she lets go of the man. She waits for a moment, but when he doesn’t pull back, she _shoves_ him off, and then reaches for Beau, her heels making nice _clicking_ sounds. Her hands grab Beau’s shoulders, and she pulls her friend into a hug, for once not having to reach on her tiptoes because her heels are _that high_. “You _made_ it, you said you might not be able to!” It’s real dark, and Jester admires how the the glittering flashing lights coat Beau’s warm brown skin in dizzying streams of red and blue and purple. From how Beau stares at her, her blush not subsiding, Jester also knows she also must be a _vision_. The man stares after her, looking a little lost, and Jester ignores him, smiling even wider at Beau. “I’m so _glad_ you made it.” _And distracted me from my own stupid heart lusting after the fucking janitor._

“Of course I came,” Beau says, and wrinkles her nose fondly at Jester giggling at her unintentional euphemism. She exhales through her teeth and gives Jester a weak smile. “Needed to escape my parents tonight, they’ve been… they’ve been a lot.” Her eyes flit to the man still looking with crestfallen eyes at Jester, and she scowls. “Move on, pal.” Jester gestures for him to shoo, still smiling evenly at Beau, and watches him dejectedly leave from the corner of her eye. Beau looks back to her, and smirks, her jaw shifting slightly. “Hey, weren’t you coming with that _janitor_? Caleb?” She bugs her eyes out slightly as she leads Jester more into the middle of the dance floor, away from where she was dancing with that man. Jester skips after her, trying not to stumble on her heels. _Click, click, click_. “The one who gives you _doe eyes_? Mister _deer in the headlights_?”

Jester giggles half-heartedly at Beau’s look, but her smile kind of recedes. Beau’s smile also becomes slightly uncertain, watching Jester’s expression with her careful gaze. “He’s _here_ ,” she says, tightening her grip on Beau’s hand to resist running it through her own perfectly coiffed hair. “But he’s not like my _date_ or something like that, you know?” She doesn’t like how Beau becomes a little still. “I just needed someone Mama liked to come with me. We’re just _friends_ , it isn’t anything like that.”

“… Oh.” Beau keeps her face carefully neutral, and her gaze stays on Jester’s expression, studying her. Jester rolls her eyes, uncomfortable with those probing sharp blue eyes on her. She grabs Beau’s other hand and drags her into a dance, breaking Beau out from her considering look and making her flush deeper. Jester’s false smile widens and becomes a modicum more genuine as Beau puts her hands on Jester’s waist and they sway together. “Sorry, I’m not judging you. I just… I just see you with him a lot. A lot of parties.” She sounds like she’s desperately trying to avoid saying the wrong thing. “Just curious.”

Jester giggles, but it’s a little half-hearted. Caleb _does_ tend to be free a lot when she asks him to do things, huh? He’s such a fucking liar, claiming he isn’t lonely. It makes her feel slightly better, and she straightens herself. “He just isn’t _busy_ , Beau.” She says it like it’s obvious. “All he does is _work_ ”—she pauses and pouts slightly, making Beau bark out a half-laugh, though her face remains a little uncomfortable—“and then he hangs out with his _cat_. He needs to meet _ladies_ , and I’m doing him a _favour_ by dragging him to these _awesome_ parties.” She sighs, clenching her jaw slightly. “Where _else_ will he meet… meet people like us, you know?”

Beau exhales at _people like us_ , making Jester’s eyebrows furrow. “We… we hang out, sometimes,” Beau says, carefully. She looks away at Jester’s surprised face. “I was… studying for my exam in the lobby while I waited for you to change in your room one time”—Jester _winces_ , knowing how long it can take her to choose a dress—“and I was… I was stuck on a math problem.” She flushes with embarrassment, and Jester _stares_. Beau usually doesn’t _talk_ about this shit. “He noticed, and he… he helped. Seemed passionate about it.”

“What are you saying?” Jester says, and she realizes too late her voice isn’t sunny, isn’t pleasant. She forces that fucking smile to widen, but Beau already noticed, and they stopped swaying to the rhythm of the distant music.

“I’m saying I think he’s _plenty_ busy.” Beau sounds a little frustrated, but she masks it with a brittle smile. “I’m sure he has plenty of hobbies and people he hangs out with.” _Plenty of options_. Jester freezes at what she leaves unsaid. “He just makes you a priority. You know that, right?”

_Of course I know_ , Jester wants to sneer. Instead she clenches her jaw slightly, and averts her gaze, looking to the hardwood floor scuffed with heels. “That’s _cool_ , Beau.” Her voice is slightly hard, and Beau winces at Jester’s voice, at her poor facsimile of pleasantness. _Fuck_ , she’s _trying_ to be nice, _trying_ to be earnest, but she fucking _hates_ the way Beau is _looking_ at her. “I’m glad you two bonded over being _nerds_.”

“I’m not a nerd,” Beau retorts, giving her a playful smile. She raises her arm to flex her muscles, but then realizes she’s wearing sleeves. “Aw, fuck,” she sighs, running a hand through her tied back hair. Jester quirks up her lips at Beau’s frustration, and Beau smiles back at her after a moment, seeming relieved by the interruption of the tension. “I’m just…” She clenches her jaw, weighing what she should say, and Jester stares at her almost _pleadingly_ , wanting her to _stop, please won’t you just stop, aren’t you the one who says we should let assholes be assholes? Let me be an asshole, Beau._ “Your life, you know? But you realize he likes you, right? Dude’s fucking whipped.”

“It’s just a crush, Jester mutters. Her hands tighten slightly on Beau’s waist, and she forces herself to ease her grip. _Gods_ , it would be so _awful_ if she were to wrinkle this suit jacket when the night’s barely _started_. Her voice sounds mildly irritated, and she tries to smooth it over, giving Beau a lopsided smile. “A _lot_ of people are into me, Beau. I don’t understand why _you_ of all people are _judging_ my choices—”

Beau raises her hands off Jester’s waist for a moment in a defensive motion, causing Jester to cut herself off and stare at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sorry.” She genuinely _seems_ sorry, which causes Jester to untense her shoulders just slightly. “I’m not trying to get into your business, Jessie.” Jester smiles slightly at the nickname, and Beau sighs, smiling back. Her dark blue eyes are considering on Jester’s face. “I know you know what you’re doing”— _I always do_ , Jester thinks, her breathing becoming slightly unsteady as she prepares for the inevitable _but_ —“but”— _ah_ , there it is—“be careful, okay?” Her usually rough and loud voice is a little gentle. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself, or… or hurt him.”

Jester thinks of Caleb’s strange face when she waved at him, walking immediately to the dance floor and grabbing a man, pressing him close. She turned to him, a smile playing on her lips, and mouthed, _Grab a lady_. She bugged her eyes and pouted with disappointment when he shook his head and smiled at her, finding a table and sitting by himself. She… she _enjoyed_ the way his eyes followed her as she began to dance with this stranger, _enjoyed_ how he found a table and couldn’t even _consider_ approaching another woman, awkwardly fiddling with the cuffs of the nice suit Jester pouted him into accepting for tonight.

Beau stares at Jester, and Jester sighs. “I’ll find Cayleb,” she mutters, grabbing Beau’s hand and pulling her along. Beau smiles at her, and they begin to part through the crowd, their heels clicking as they ask people if they’ve seen the redhead Jester came in with. Beau’s a lot more interrogative than Jester is, and she smiles sheepishly when Jester gives her an impressed look. “The monks taught me a lot,” she says.

They’re standing beside the tables where people are sitting, and Jester studiously avoids looking to her mother sitting with Lord and Lady Sharpe. “That’s _really_ cool, Beau,” Jester says, crossing her arms. He isn’t sitting where Jester _left_ him… Jester, unable to stop herself, runs a hand through her hair in distress, and winces as she feels her hair fall out from the careful coiff. “Gods, what if he got _kidnapped_ or something, though?” The banquet hall is _big_ , but not _that_ big… 

“That could be cool,” Beau says, smiling to hide the way her eyes are darting frantically. “We could rescue him, and then he’d fall even more helplessly in love with you.” Jester smirks at that, but her smile stills as she watches Beau’s face flatten and her eyes widen as she looks to somewhere behind Jester. Jester furrows her eyebrows at her expression, and begins to turn, and Beau says, “Ah, I don’t—”

“Huh, what’s up, did you _find_ —” Jester’s own voice dies out, and her false smile drops as she stares with astonishment at Caleb sitting somewhere else, at another table than where Jester left him. His hair is disheveled slightly, and there’s… there’s a pretty blonde woman sitting on his lap, leaning close and whispering something in Caleb’s ear. Her hands are on his shoulders, and there’s this arrogant smile playing on her face, this easy confidence.

For a second there, Jester thinks she’s _forcing_ herself on Caleb—sweet, beautiful Caleb, who wears sweaters and cats when he isn’t wearing that _hideous_ blue uniform the Lavish Chateau insists on, who would _never_ be okay with a stranger invading his personal space so fucking easily—but then a hand awkwardly comes up to rest on this woman’s back. _Fuck_ , her dress is backless, and that’s his burnt fingers on her _bare_ _skin_. The woman shifts her head slightly, and then Jester can see it’s the daughter of the host—Lorna Sharpe. Her dress is short and silver, and her tanned legs look beautiful from how she’s sitting on Caleb. Her dress glitters like a dream in the flashing light, and so does _he_ —his hair glows like a halo, and he… he looks mildly amused. She says something that causes a smile to quirk up on his lips and for his skin to flush slightly, and Lorna’s own smile widens.

“Is that… is that _Caleb_?” Beau sounds a little shocked, but then she begins to saunter over to them, her hands slightly clenched. “ _Hey_ , Caleb!” Her voice is loud and booming, and Caleb’s eyes snap to her. He smiles slightly at Beau, but when his eyes flit to Jester walking quietly behind her, his face becomes a little alarmed. Beau pauses a couple feet away and raises her eyebrow at Lorna, who rolls her eyes back at her, and then gives Caleb a shit-eating smile. “We’ve been _looking_ for you, man.” Up close, Jester can see Lorna move to put her arm around Caleb’s neck, can spy that the first couple buttons of Caleb’s shirt are unbuttoned. Her hands clench.

“Beauregard,” Caleb says, his voice quiet. Beau’s smile becomes a little more real, a little more earnest, and Jester averts her gaze for a moment, looking to Caleb’s hand on Lorna’s back. “Jester.” His voice is warm, but… hesitant.

Lorna tilts her head at them resentfully, her lips curving slightly at she recognizes Beau. Jester can imagine what she’s thinking— _the Lionetts’ fuck-up, the mistake they hid in the monestary_. Jester scowls at Lorna, and Caleb shifts slightly, looking to Lorna unhappily. Lorna meets Caleb’s gaze, and after an intent silence shared between them— _Oh, fuck Lorna_ , Jester thinks pleasantly—she shakes her head, and her blonde hair falls forward, framing her pale face so wonderfully. “Can I help you?” Her voice is smooth, cordial.

Beau turns to Jester, raising an eyebrow. _Can she help us?_ Jester avoids her inquisitive gaze, and looks to Caleb, putting her hand on Beau’s shoulder. Marion said to make nice with the Sharpes, to not cause trouble, and this isn’t worth… it isn’t worth… “Are you having fun?” She tilts her head down to Caleb and gives him an encouraging smile, like this is just teasing question. She widens her eyes at him meaningfully— _Tell me if you’re not having fun, Cayleb_.

Caleb stares back at her for a moment, before his gaze flits to the dance floor behind her. He looks back to her, and then nods awkwardly—and _fuck_ , Jester can feel her foolish _fucking_ heart stutter just slightly. This is… this is so fucking out of character for him, and she doesn’t _understand_. Caleb has _never_ been smooth with the ladies, _never_ … and _sure_ , she dragged him along, teasing him about how he needed to _find_ someone, but how could he fucking _find_ someone? Jester remembers Beau’s careful gaze, telling her she’s _sure_ Caleb has a lot of hobbies, and she remembers Caleb with his hair strewn over the pillow, fucking _insisting_ he wasn’t lonely… he was looking indulgently at her.

Jester is beginning to think she’s a bit of an idiot, and kind of a fool, rolling her eyes internally at their badgering. She nods stiffly to Caleb, who watches her with concern, and ignores the way Lorna smirks at her. “I have to go to the washroom,” she says, turning to Beau. Her voice is a little hard, and Caleb winces slightly at her tone. She doesn’t look at him, though—she looks at _Beau_ , and gives her a smile she _knows_ is charming, _knows_ is languid.

Beau stares at her for a moment, and her face momentarily _twists_ —there is something tense, something brittle in her expression, but then her shoulders slump, and she sighs. “I’ll go with you.” Her normally loud voice is a little muted.

Jester beams, wincing at the _look_ Beau gives in return to her facsimile of happiness, and she intertwines her arm in Beau’s. They turn and walk through the dance floor, cutting through and heading for the ladies’ washroom. She tries desperately to ignore Caleb’s eyes on her, and miserably fails.

_Fuck_. She tries to console herself with the feeling of Beau’s warmth through her suit sleeve, and the fact that Caleb’s eyes are on her at all.

Jester sits on the bathroom counter on the space where there aren’t any sinks, crossing her arms moodily as Beau washes her hands. Beau looks nice, now that Jester can see her properly—the lipstick Jester suggested to her really _does_ compliment Beau’s brown skin perfectly, and that makeup seamlessly hides the bruises Beau always seems to have on her from working at that boxing place downtown. Her hair is slightly mussed from how often she’s run her hand through it, but it looks _good_ mussed, so Jester bites her tongue and doesn’t offer to help her fix it up.

Jester already _knows_ she herself looks good. She stared obsessively at herself in the mirror while Beau went inside one of the stalls, fixing up her makeup and redoing her bun, coiling it so tight she almost winced. She looked so _miserable_ , so she practiced smiling, again and again until she heard Beau open the door to her stall.

“What a _bitch_ , huh?” Jester scowls, looking down to her strappy green heels on her feet that make her freckled legs look so arched and elegant. She feels like a toddler playing dress-up. “Who _sits_ on someone else’s _date’s_ lap at a party, right?” She exhales through her teeth, clenching her jaw slightly.

“… I thought you said he wasn’t a date.” Jester stills at Beau’s very even voice as she dries her hands, clenching her own hands beside her. Beau sighs at Jester’s annoyed expression, tilting her head to look at her. “Jessie,” she says gently, reaching up to adjust her own shirt collar. “Why’d you… why’d you tell him to find a lady, if you didn’t _want_ him to find a woman?” Her voice is non-judgemental, and her eyes study Jester’s face very carefully.

Jester wrings her hands miserably. “I didn’t… this was a _bad_ idea.” She pouts, shifting her jaw slightly. All she can think about is Lorna’s lips close to Caleb’s ears, at them laughing at a shared joke. “Lorna Sharpe saw him in a nice suit, and thinks he’s _rich_ , you know?” She exhales. “Think he’s _powerful_. He’s going to be _heartbroken_ , and it’s gonna be my _fault_ when Lorna finds out, and, you know—”

“ _Jess_ ,” Beau says, her voice hard. Jester stares, and she sighs, running a hand over her face in exasperation. “Please, I don’t… why are you—he’s not a _child_.” She looks to Jester with annoyed eyes, her jaw clenched. “You realize that, right? You don’t have to _protect_ him from the reality that… that rich women are going to fuck with him.” She looks to Jester carefully, biting the inside of her cheek. “He probably knew that the second you offered to dress him and bring him here, but he agreed anyway. Agreed for you.”

Jester looks down and crosses her legs, adjusting her position on the counter. “I’m… I’m worried about him,” she mumbles, feeling her cheeks and neck flush darker. She isn’t… she isn’t even sure that isn’t a lie, is she? Jester wasn’t going to let it get this far, how the _fuck_ did she let it get so far?

Beau leans against the wall, raising an eyebrow at her. Jester stares back at her desperately, and she looks a little… a little sad. Beau opens her mouth to respond, but then there’s this _buzzing_ noise, and Beau looks down as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. Her face immediately darkens and she _swears_ when she sees the identity of the caller. “I’ll be a second,” she says to Jester, nearly _storming_ outside the washroom, and Jester stares down at her own hands miserably. _Alone_ , coos that voice in her head, that voice that has her cloying Nicodrani accent. _You’re always alone._

Oh, gods. Jester stares at the closed bathroom stalls, grey and unassuming, and imagines Lorna’s elegant hands running through Caleb’s hair, tugging just slightly. His neck would become exposed as she unbuttoned his shirt collar and he threw his head back. Her pink lips would trail kisses against his delicate pale skin. Maybe she would leave marks as Caleb’s rough fingers dug into _her_ soft skin… 

The door opens, and the sound of two other women’s conversation interrupts Jester’s wallowing. She looks down, trying to ignore them like they’re ignoring _her_ , but _merde_ , they’re so _loud_. They speak rapidly, almost over each other, and they’re giggling, leaning close to the mirrors and fixing up their makeup. Jester almost asks them to be quiet, but then she hears _Lorna_ , and she stills, her jaw clenching slightly.

“—and he’s _adorable_ , in that lost puppy kind of way?” The short-haired woman wearing the dark red dress beams, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter. They both bark out laughs, and Jester tenses. “No wonder she was sitting on his lap like it was a _throne_ all evening. His accent was so hot and the way he stumbled over his words and blushed?” She giggles, and Jester grits her teeth, trying not to… trying not to think about how _wrong_ it is that those thoughts living inside her own head for so long sound so _bad_ in someone else’s voice. _This doesn’t affect you_ , Jester thinks. _It really fucking doesn’t, and you don’t want it to. Good for him. Good for him, good for him, good for him_ —

“Adam’s gonna kick her ass, though.” The other woman laughs, and it’s this delicate, lovely sound. She has red hair, and she’s checking her appearance in the mirror. Her lips are lovely and lush, her hair framing her pale face perfectly. Jester feels suddenly sick. “He’s been fuming all night, what kind of _girlfriend_ —”

“Oh, Lorna’s fine. Lorna’s always _fine_ , it’s her new toy that’s fucked.” They both laugh at that, making these delicate, innocent little noises. Jester straightens herself, about to leap off the counter and cross her arms, to demand to know _exactly_ who this Adam is, but then she _remembers_ , she _can’t—_

Her mother’s lovely face was so _severe_ this morning. Her neck was adorned in pretty jewels and there was a plate of sweets between her and Jester as she watched Jester carefully. Her brown skin looked lovely in the warm sunlight streaming from her window, and she looked fucking _angelic_ in her peach robe. “No problems,” she said, her accented voice both insistent and pleading. “No problems, and no fights, and no drama. Or no more parties. We have to make nice with the Sharpes, alright?”

Jester pouted, but she sighed regardless, smiling to her mother. “No problems, Mama.” Marion’s face broke into an approving smile, and Jester beamed back. Mama smiling with approval at her is… is quite the feeling, and Jester thinks, in another world, she could’ve gotten used to it.

Jester sits very still as the women continue to talk. Her thoughts both race, thinking of Caleb staring at her, Caleb laying in her bed, Caleb with his hair strewn over her pillow, and yet her mind becomes frighteningly blank. Jester bunches her hands in the cloth of the dress, and the women eventually leave through the door, continuing to ignore Jester sitting alone, alone, _alone_ on the counter.

Beau comes in just moments later, seeming angrier than she did when she left. She exhales through her teeth and rubs roughly at her eyes, giving Jester a weak smile. “Hey.” Her voice is a little rough. Beau clenches her jaw at Jester’s expression. “Did something else happen?”

“Nothing,” Jester says immediately with a bright, dizzying smile. She gets up off the counter, and grabs Beau’s hand, pulling her close. “Let me fix your makeup, and then lets go _dancing_ , Beau.”

Beau stares after her for a moment. Jester wonders for a terrifying moment if she’s going to call her out, demand the truth, but then Beau’s shoulders slump, and she examines herself in the mirror. “Alright, fuck. Thanks for… thanks for everything, Jess..”

Jester feels Beau staring after her in the mirror, but she ignores it as best she’s able. She’s good at that—kind of fucking excellent, if she’s being honest. Jester focuses on Beau’s eyelashes, because if she focuses on how her heart is breaking, she thinks she won’t be able to focus on anything else.

Jester is dancing, and her breathing is a little heavy. She’s sweating slightly, and that’s _fine_ , because if she’s thinking about how she’s _sweating,_ she isn’t thinking about—thinking about—

The man whose body she’s pressed up against is whispering in her ear, distracting her. His hands are big and sure on her waist, and his fingers are digging in slightly. She sways into him, and he’s muttering compliments in her ear, telling her how fucking _pretty_ she is, the prettiest thing he’s even seen, and Jester almost wants to pull back and laugh in his face.

_Oh, no. I’m not very pretty at all_. Jester thinks it’s strange how people seem to want her because of her dresses that perfectly fit her figure, and her eyes that her makeup makes look dark and inviting, and her delicate face, freckled and innocent. They think because of her lilting accent and her pout and the fact that she doesn’t know very much at all about the outside world makes her very adorable, exceedingly sweet. Caleb, though… Caleb doesn’t think she’s adorable, or sweet—or maybe he does, but that’s not _all_ he thinks. She knows he thinks she’s a little cruel, and a little selfish. She knew that the second his shoulders slumped when he realized she was fucking with him that night they first met. Caleb thinks she’s a little devastating, and _she_ thought that was very adorable of him.

The man leaves a kiss along her neck, his lips cold, and Jester sighs. Caleb’s lips would’ve been _warm_ , just like his smile and his featherlight touch against her ear. _You think that I’m very pretty?_ She wants to scoff. _You should see this redhead with his pale blue eyes, the way he blinks will change your life_. She imagines blood against the red of his hair, making gross and sticky, blood against his pale delicate skin, blood against the smooth pavement outside the banquet hall, and her grip on her partner’s gaudy purple suit tightens. She blinks back tears as he makes a soft noise of delight.

Beau is dancing close to her, her arm around another lady’s—shorter than Beau, but about Jester’s height. She has curly hair like Jester too, and Jester isn’t cruel enough to point that out, not tonight. “ _We should check on Caleb!_ ” The loud thudding music is no challenge for Beau’s rough, booming voice, and Jester bites her bottom lip, remembering her mother’s expression as Jester promised not to be a fuck-up this evening, promised not to get involved in some drama that might compromise her friendship with the Sharpes. Her mother’s… her mother’s smile, when Jester agreed to her demands. “ _I haven’t seen him since we came back_.” Beau’s voice cuts through her thoughts again, and the woman in Beau’s arms pulls back and gives her a _look_. Beau looks down at her apologetically, and then bugs her eyes out at Jester.

“ _You said,_ ” Jester says, trying not to sound defensive. Her partner winces at her loud voice, and she ignores him, ignores the twinge of guilt she feels as she imagines Caleb with a broken nose. “ _Beauregard, you’re the one who said he’s not a child, though!_ ”

Beau stares at her for a moment, her blue eyes narrowing, but then the lady snaps something, and Beau looks down to her, offering a sheepish smile and saying something in her ear. The woman rolls her eyes, but then smiles and leans close.

Jester Lavorre tries to follow her lead, and smile. She eventually succeeds, and she tries not to hate herself for it.

Jester is dancing, and she’s having an _excellent_ time, Mama, thank you very much! _Yes_ , she remembers the rules—no fighting, no drama. Things are _delicate_ right now, she knows! She loves you _too_ , Mama. Cayleb’s _fine_ , he’s having a _great_ time.

Jester watches her mother’s retreating form, watches the way the red dress cascades behind her, making her look like an angel sent into this hall by the gods themselves. Jester hates Mama, hates the pearls in her hair and hates the way her red hair is splayed in perfect curls behind her, so she doesn’t hate herself.

It doesn’t work.

It’s been forty-five minutes and Jester hasn’t seen Caleb Widogast.

She tries not to let her breathing get too heaving, tries not to seem frantic as she searches the hall outside the banquet hall, Beau following close beside her. Beau’s hair is a mess, and her blue eyes are darting, her hands clenched into fists like she might fuck up the next person who says they don’t know where the pretty redhead with the blue eyes went. Her breathing is uneven, a little shaky, and her jaw is clenched with fury. The sight makes Jester wince internally, makes her remember their argument ten minutes ago when Jester finally gave in to her fright and pulled Beau aside.

“You did what?” Beau said, her voice frighteningly flat. Her hands were clenched into fists, and she stared at Jester with dark eyes like she was trying not to _deck_ her.

Jester averted her gaze, wringing her hands nervously. “Well, I mean—I didn’t do _anything_.” She stumbled over her words for the first time in a _while_ , looking up at her friend—if Beau is in fact still her _friend_ after this goddamn night—with desperation. “Beau, listen, I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think.” Beau’s voice was quiet, and she shook her head, letting out this brittle half-laugh. She looked at Jester with furrowed eyebrows, like she was genuinely fucking disappointed. “Or you thought, but just about yourself.”

“That isn’t _fair_ ,” Jester snapped, feeling moisture in her eyes, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. “ _You_ said that he wasn’t a child, Beau, that isn’t—”

“He isn’t a child,” Beau said, looking at her. Her eyes were hard. “I’m beginning to wonder if you are, though.” Jester stared at her, her shoulders trembling, and Beau began walking, pulling her arm and directing Jester to follow her. They began frantically looking for him, and they’ve searched fucking _everywhere_ inside this building.

Beau exhales, running a hand through her hair. “The parking lot,” she murmurs, looking to Jester. “We should check the fucking parking lot, assholes tend to act up there.” Jester nods quietly, her jaw slightly clenched, and Beau turns, parting through people and walking to the back exit of the banquet hall. Jester follows, stumbling slightly on her heels. _Click, click, click._ The music is a dull thud behind the closed doors, and Jester doesn’t take in a second to feel the coolness of the night air against her skin, feeling overheated from all the people inside, because—

_Caleb_. She turns and sees _Caleb_ , leaning against the brick wall. Her eyes widen and her hands clasp over her mouth as she sees red against the silk white of the dress shirt, the tear in the black suit jacket. He’s breathing heavily, unevenly, and there’s another man’s hands tight against his shirt collar, snarling at him. Caleb is looking at that man with an even smile, and Jester… Jester has never seen Caleb’s gaze look so _bright_ , the hatred in his eyes look so _intense._ Caleb, who reads boring historical novels in his freetime, who shows everyone he likes pictures of his cat, smiling like he’s _enjoying_ this fight, _enjoying_ this pain…. Jester wonders if she knows him at all.

Jester doesn’t focus on Beau shouting obscenities and running after the fuck who made Caleb bleed. Beau throws rocks at his retreating form, and Jester ignores it, ignores the sound of the fading footfalls. She simply focuses on Caleb, holding him and helping him down to the floor, being careful to make sure the rough brick doesn’t scrape against his back. He leans into her sure grip so _trustingly_ , and it makes her feel ashamed, feel sickened. Jester hesitates for _just_ a moment before tearing off a strip of the silk shirt to wipe at his face and attempt to clean off the blood.

Caleb looks up to her weakly, and his lips quirk up into a smile. He looks… he looks good against the lantern light, good in her arms. He looked good with Lorna sitting on him too, and he looked good _bleeding_ , and Jester thinks she maybe… she maybe underestimated this man, maybe underestimated how bright and clever and damn _knowing_ he is. “Sorry,” he says, his voice rougher than it usually is.

Jester smiles back at him helplessly. “Why are _you_ sorry?” Gods, the guilt—she thinks the guilt might kill her, and she thinks she might deserve it if it does. Beau is staring at her, at _them_ , at Jester’s arms around them, and she’s giving her this intent look. Jester winces, and then nods to her. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Cayleb.” He furrows his eyebrows at her, and she exhales. “I’m sorry I came so late.”

“It’s alright, Madame Lavorre.” Caleb’s voice is reassuring as he looks up to her, and Jester grimaces, wanting to curl into herself. Gods, she’s so _stupid_ , how the fuck could she be so _stupid?_ "This dance was important. Thank you for… thank you for coming at all." Jester’s stomach drops, and she looks to Beau, who looks… who looks stricken. Who looks to Caleb like this is _familiar_ to her. He… he really does seem fucking grateful, is the most heartbreaking thing, and Jester… hates herself.

Jester puts her hand to Caleb’s cheek, and he leans into it, his eyes searching her guilt-ridden expression curiously. “I could’ve come earlier, and I _didn’t_.” Jester’s voice is desperate as she tries to explain the depth of her selfishness. Caleb’s bright, intelligent eyes widen as he understands, and she expects him to jerk away or something, but he simply sighs, looking down to his ripped dress shirt as she stumbles over her words. “I’m sorry, Cayleb. I didn’t… I was selfish, and I was scared, and I was… I was bitter.” It’s so fucking _painful_ to admit that, but she is, and he stares back up at her very sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“Bitter,” Caleb says, almost to himself. His voice is quiet, and then he looks up to her with something like wonder. “Madame Lavorre, why were you _bitter_?” He smiles weakly. “This night was for _you_ , I did what you _wanted._ I found a… I found a lady, and I even fought for her. Isn’t this… isn’t this…”

Beau’s jaw is clenched, and she turns away, crossing her arms. Jester bites the inside of her cheek, trying desperately not to allow the moisture in her eyes to turn into actual fucking tears. She thinks about blonde hair and pink nails trailing over Caleb’s chest, and she clenches her own hands tightly against his suit jacket. All this… all this because she was terrified she might actually… _like_ someone like Caleb. _Like_ someone with worn shoes and bandaged arms and old clothes, who smelled a little funny and was scared by odd noises, like a locked door opening. “Bitter you were with someone else,” she says, her tongue heavy in her mouth. “Bitter you were… bitter I was…” She shakes her head, and feels those damn tears on her cheeks. “I’m… I’m so _sorry_.” 

Caleb looks away, and stumbles to his feet, leaning against the brick wall. Jester reaches out to grab him, to help him up, but he gives her this _look_ , this dark _look_ that makes her meek and makes her want and makes her feel a little broken inside, and he shakes his head. “… You’re forgiven, Madame Lavorre.”

Jester stares at his arm, where he clenched his hand against her touch. _Oh, gods_ , she thinks, realizing for the first time that this… this thing she’s done to him will last beyond tonight. Beau is quiet, watching the two of them. She furrows her eyebrows. “But—”

“You’re forgiven,” he repeats, and this time his voice is almost _pleading_. His cool blue eyes snap away from her and he begins to walk away from her, walk towards Beau. His footfalls are at first uneven, but he straightens his back, and looks purposeful as she listens to his shoes against the smooth pavement. “Don’t… don’t make me think about tonight, anymore, Madame Lavorre. It’s… I want to go home.”

Jester looks away, and hates the sick feeling of _relief_ running through her mind. She has a feeling Caleb won’t… Caleb won’t move on from this so easily, but at the very fucking least he _wants_ to. Maybe she can… help with that process. “… Okay,” she whispers, against the coldness of the glittering night. 

Caleb continues to walk away from her, and he pauses beside Beau. Beau raises an eyebrow at him, sweating and her hair a mess, and he gives her a hesitant smile. Beau’s blue eyes stare at him, searching him for further injury, and then she nods back to him stiffly. “Are your… are your parents okay?” His voice is hushed, and his face is… awkwardly empathetic. That way he is when he catches Jester frowning at her mother and her hands clenching at the table cloth. Like he _cares_. It makes Jester still, because this _entire_ night, she didn’t even _bother_ to ask Beau about her parents, question why she was avoiding them. She didn’t… it didn’t even _register_ , and Jester is beginning to realize, as Beau stares at him with her face slightly more open, that she’s not a very good friend at all.

Beau shrugs. “Same old shit, you know?” She crosses her arms and looks to the ground, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her voice is a little raw, and she clears her throat, clenching her jaw. “Dad’s upset that the monastery didn’t manage to… manage to fix me.”

“Ah,” Caleb says, wincing. He reaches out and awkwardly pats Beau on the shoulder. Jester crosses her arms, feeling so fucking small. _Alone, alone, alone._ Her only friends that really know her at all seem to be closer to each other than she is to either of them, and it’s… entirely her fault. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He exhales. “Did your… did your exam go well though?”

Beau smiles, smirking at him. “Yeah, I kicked its ass. Think I might be smarter than you at calculus.”

Caleb sighs, smiling. “I think you might.” He pauses, and then looks to Jester, and then back to Beau. “I’ll see you two,” he says. “At work, I suppose. I should go home, my cat will be missing me.” Jester stares at him with wide, stricken eyes, and he gives her a reassuring look. It makes her feel a little sick. “Goodbye, Madame Lavorre.”

“Do you… do you want me to _walk_ you?” Jester remembers that night all those months ago, dancing with him with Frumpkin in her arms in Caleb’s hallway. She remembers the feeling of Caleb in her arms, curled into her, giving her directions to his home. She… she _misses_ that night. She… she misses _him_ , and she _wants_ him, and it’s… 

Caleb is shaking his head, and Jester is realizing it’s far too late. “Au revoir, Madame Lavorre.” His voice is so fucking _fond_ , and he looks a little lovelorn, and he looks a little not. “You look… you look radiant in that dress.”

Jester exhales, and breathing is a little painful. She looks pleadingly to Beau, and after a moment, Beau sighs, and begins to walk back into the banquet hall. She gives Jester a _look_ as they pass each other, and Jester winces, nodding to her and then looking back to Caleb. She listens to Beau’s footfalls and then the slam of the doors, and then she gives him a watery smile. “Did you _really_ have fun, though?” Her voice is soft. _Did Lorna make it fun for you?_

“It was... a lot of fun, Jester.” He flushes a little pink, and Jester feels her heart break just a little. “I normally don’t like having attention on me, but it was... nice. Like a masquerade, almost.” Jester tilts her head, and he sighs. “I was dressed as someone else. Someone who belonged. Nice for people to want me because they thought I was rich, or important.” He winces. “Better than... other reasons.”

“Other reasons?” Jester furrows her eyebrows, and clenches her jaw slightly. “What do you _mean_ , better than _other reasons?_ She just cared about how _expensive_ what you wore looked, that isn’t _good_ reasons.” Jester realizes too late how cruel she sounded, which is fucking… apt, but Caleb doesn’t seem bothered, simply rubbing at his arm.

“Didn’t say _good_ ,” he mutters, sounded a little off. “ _Better_. Better for someone to want you because they think you’re very... powerful, than because they think you’re very weak.”

Jester stares. “ _Cayleb—_ ” She cuts herself off, and walks close, reaches for his hand. He becomes very still for a moment, before pulling his hand back before she can touch, offering her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, Madame Lavorre.” His voice is a little flat, a little empty. “I forget myself. Thank you for the gift of your company.”

Jester grimaces, looking at him desperately. “You don’t have to _do that_ , Cayleb, it’s _fine_ , I just…”

“I _know_ ,” he says, his voice a little gentler. “I won’t forget what I am. But it was kind of you to forget, for just one evening.”

Jester Lavorre watches him leave through the parking lot, his footfalls so fucking even that he has to be doing it intentionally, and she watches him disappear into the lanterned night, his form small amongst the opulance of the streets around him.

She bursts into tears, and then wipes them carefully. She counts to ten, thinks about his hair strewn over her pillow, and then goes back inside.

Her smile is convincing.

**Author's Note:**

> All this love of mine  
> All my precious time  
> You waste it cause you  
> Don't know what you want  
> You don't know what you want
> 
> —The Black Keys, Nova Baby


End file.
